


love always wakes the dragon

by kenopsiia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Development, Character Study, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hunter Jessica Moore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jessica Moore Lives, LGBTQ Themes, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queer Themes, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenopsiia/pseuds/kenopsiia
Summary: "Jessica Moore was supposed to die. It was not a demon who told her the truth. She has always known. She was supposed to die that night."A #JessicaMooreLives AU that begins when Dean is rescued from Hell. What would the Apocalypse look like if Jessica Moore was there to live through it alongside the Winchesters?
Relationships: Jessica Moore & Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore & Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Ruby, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Ruby/Sam Winchester (Implied)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. a sort of walking miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So here begins a passion project of mine. The goal I have for this story is to make Jessica Moore a fully realized person beyond the picture perfect pedestal we have seen her put upon in the show. I also want to just... explore. What would this world be like if Jessica had lived? How similar would it be? What would change? This project started because I have read so many interesting and nuanced looks exploring just this, but set in the earliest seasons of the show. I wanted to know what the Apocalypse would look like if Jessica Moore had to live through it too.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy! Please note that tags/ratings/warnings may update and change as the story progresses, so always make sure to check in first. The title of this work comes from "Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out" by Richard Siken. The title for the first chapter comes from "Lady Lazarus" by Sylvia Plath.
> 
> I have been out of this fandom for a very very long time and am only just coming back and it feels a little bit like coming home. I hope that you will join me on this adventure and fall in love with the Jessica Moore who lives inside my head.

_So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog_ _  
__of non-definitive acts,_ _  
__something other than the desperation._

 _You want a better story._ _  
__Who wouldn’t?_

###  **_chapter one: a sort of walking miracle_ **

Jessica Moore was supposed to die.

She hates to think about it. Sleep already is hard to come by for her. Her lifelong insomnia only got worse when she found out the truth about what lived in the dark. But nothing causes her to lose more sleep than knowing that her whole life was a dead-end road leading to a bloody death. It’s enough to drive her mad if she thinks about it long enough.

But even when she doesn’t think about it, the truth of it is still there.

 _I was supposed to die,_ echoes endlessly, bouncing around on a loop inside her skull. _I was supposed to burn._

When she does sleep, she dreams of smoke clinging to her lungs. She dreams of fire and screams and sirens. She wakes up with dry eyes and a cough that has nothing to do with motel air conditioning, skin aching and sensitive to the touch. 

It was not a demon who told her the truth. They would spit the words at her over and over again, trying to rattle her. But Jessica already knew. She has always known. She was supposed to die that night. 

Jessica has spent her entire life doing her best to look forward. To keep moving, no matter what. From the day she turned fourteen, she would repeat the same words to herself. Over and over again until she didn’t just live them, she breathed them.

_Keep moving. Look forward. No turning back. Focus on what you can control._

It has never failed her before. 

It’s failing now.

 _It’s worth it,_ she tells herself. _It’s worth it, to help people._

Jessica remembers adults laughing at her when she was young. Back when she still spoke to her parents, when she was naive enough to believe that the world could be inherently _good_. She would tell anyone who listened she was going to be a nurse or a vet or a teacher or a doctor. 

She was going to _help_ people.

 _Better watch that bleeding heart, Jessie,_ her mother told her, _you won’t have any blood left for yourself._

Jessica didn’t understand what she meant then. She was too young to understand the metaphor. She only knew that she hated the way her mother said it. Even now, years and years later, she can remember the exact shape of the words. The way they felt when they hit her. It’s been so long since Jessica has spoken to her mother she can barely remember the sound of her voice. But she remembers the way those words felt.

She’s older now. So she also knows that maybe — maybe her mother was right. 

Before — she worked nearly full-time as an EMT. Sam was always busy with school and helped with odd jobs when he could, but it was Jessica who made sure their bills were never paid late. It was nice to be able to pay with honest money. She remembered the jobs she worked at fifteen, lying about her age and begging to be paid under the table so she wouldn’t be homeless.

California was a new start. Getting into Stanford was a miracle for her. By the time she met Sam, she was just starting to finally feel like a _person._ While Sam got ready for his interviews, Jessica had been planning out exactly how to get enough scholarships and save enough money to make her way through nursing school. Maybe even med school.

Then Sam’s brother showed up in the middle of the night. Then everything burned. 

Jessica knows that dream will only ever be a dream now. She knows that Sam mourns it. The dream of a normal life. Of a lawyer and a nurse living safe and clean. She doesn’t blame him. If she grew up the way that he did, she might mourn that life too. 

Jessica never saw the point.

She is _alive._ She’s alive and she’s helping people. Jessica at fourteen never could have imagined she would make it to twenty, much less twenty-four. She’s helping more people than she ever would have been able to if her dream had ever come true. 

It isn’t a perfect life, but it’s _hers._ It isn’t the first time she has had to change her dreams to suit reality. She’s still helping people even if she’s doing it by wielding a knife and rock salt instead of a scalpel and gauze. She doesn’t think she has a reason to mourn that.

Until — 

It’s hard not to mourn after Cold Oak.

It’s hard not to mourn, knowing Dean is — 

Jess would not trade the past three years for anything. Not even for a normal life. She feels homesick all the time, even if she only barely understood the meaning of _home_ when it went up in flames. But she feels more alive than she ever did before. Sometimes, she thinks she spent her whole life asleep and only woke up after everything burned around her. 

She wouldn’t trade it. But she wishes that it hadn’t all ended up like _this._

It isn’t her only wish.

There is another. Something dark and not quite honest. It creeps in late at night and whispers to her in ways she can’t ignore.

Sometimes — she wishes she _had_ died that night.

If she burned the way she was supposed to, she would not have had to see Sam dead. She would not have had to watch Sam spiral in ways she had never imagined he could, desperate to save Dean. She would not have had to watch him bury his brother. She wouldn’t have looked at Dean and thought _family._ It all would have been so much easier if she had died that night.

It isn’t an honest wish. Not entirely.

But it’s not entirely a lie, either.

* * *

Jess has a routine now. 

Her life now is not _normal_ , but it is closer to it than anything she has had since she and Sam shared an apartment in California. She has an apartment. Something cheap and terrible and about as clean as any of the motel rooms she shared with Sam and Dean only a few months ago. But it’s an apartment nonetheless. It’s the longest she’s stayed in one place since the fire.

Her routine is simple.

She wakes up and goes to her day job. It’s only half a step up from a volunteer position, working at a small clinic in a small town in Colorado, about two hours out from Boulder. She sees the same faces every day. She doesn’t learn their names.

After working at the clinic, she researches. She looks for hunts in the area. She reads any lore she can find on hellbound souls. Most of it she’s already read. Some of it is new. She takes notes in her journal. 

She searches for signs of Sam. 

On her days off at the clinic, she takes care of the Impala as best she can. She knows it isn’t good enough. It feels like she is ripping her heart out every single time.

Sometimes, Bobby calls. 

When he does, she answers. Their conversations are brief, unless he’s letting her know about a hunt that he thinks she can handle on her own. She’s more capable than he thinks. She’s less capable than she wishes. She doesn’t think about how much he had to drink before picking up the phone.

One day, Jess knows she won’t pick up the phone. One day, she knows the calls won’t come anymore.

She only sleeps when she can’t keep her eyes open any longer. 

She dreams of Sam’s tears and Dean’s bloody chest. She dreams of waking up to find Sam gone, a note left at her bedside. She dreams of the hunger in Ruby’s eyes and a light so white she feared for her eyesight. 

She’s going through the motions. She’s still helping people, but it doesn’t feel important. It doesn’t feel like something she’s _doing._ It’s like she’s an outsider to herself, removed from it all. It feels less like she is _saving people_ and more like she is doing what is expected of her.

Jess has never been so alone before. Not even back home, before she left for college when everything felt dark and unbearably.

She feels like a ghost. She thinks that one day, a hunter will show up on her doorstep. They’ll come to burn her bones, telling her she’s been a spirit all along. 

Then — 

Everything changes.

* * *

Bobby calls early in the morning in the middle of the week. He sounds spooked. He doesn’t tell her why he needs her to come. Jessica doesn’t ask. 

She drives as fast as she dares. Not nearly as fast as she knows Sam or Dean would have, but faster than she’s ever driven before. It still isn’t fast enough. By the time she finally pulls into Singer’s Salvage, she is sleep-deprived and sore and wants nothing more than to stretch every muscle in her body. She feels as twisted up outside as she does inside. 

She just — she needs a moment first.

The last time she was here, it was after they buried Dean. It was after Sam left in the middle of the night with no trail to follow. 

Jessica knows how important Bobby is to Sam and Dean. She is so unspeakably grateful that they had at least one person in their childhood who cared about them the way they deserved. His home has offered them safe haven countless times in the past three years. It’s somewhere they know they can go and just _be._

But this is still the place where she was left behind. 

She built a life for herself after the fire. She kept moving forward and she gathered up every scrap of goodness she could until it was something that made her proud. She made a family out of the wreckage and this is the place where it finally crumbled to ash.

She knows it isn’t fair of her. But she’s only human.

Bobby is waiting for her on the porch. He must have been listening for the sound of the Impala. She can feel her heart pounding at the base of her throat.

“Is it Sam?”

Her voice is almost lost in the wind. She doesn’t want him to answer. She needs him to answer. Jessica can’t imagine why else he would ask her to drive all this way unless it was about Sam. But his shoulders relax, just a touch. He looks at her with something that could be pity.

“No. No, he’s still in the wind.”

Jess closes her eyes.

So Schrödinger’s box is still shut. They still don’t have an answer. Until they find some hint of him, something more than a passing rumor, Sam is both alive and dead to them. Jessica is almost afraid of the day they finally have something that will tip the scales one way or another.

“Then what is it?”

He doesn’t answer. Jessica feels like she can’t breathe with how hard her pulse is throbbing. She has only ever seen Bobby look so unsure a handful of times. She doesn’t know if she is ready to face whatever has put this look in his eye.

“I’ve done all the tests already. If it’s a trick, it’s a damn good one. One we’ve never seen before.”

It’s September and still feels like summer, but Jessica’s blood runs cold.

“Bobby. What’s going on?”

He nods his head towards the door and Jessica wants to stay exactly where she is. She wants to stand next to the Impala, hand wrapped around the top of the doorframe, and demand that he give her an answer. She hates how _cryptic_ hunters are for no good reason. She knows it’s no use, though. It is faster to just follow him.

So she follows. She feels like she is walking into the belly of the beast, but doesn’t know what shape the beast is yet. The house looks just the same as it always does, the setting sun casting every corner into shadow. Jessica wants to reach for her knife.

Then they turn the corner. Jessica stops breathing.

There — leaning against the kitchen counter, a beam of sunlight falling across his face — is _Dean._

Jessica freezes. She’s dreaming. It is the only logical answer, because this _can’t_ be Dean. It cannot be Dean and Bobby would never let a demon or shapeshifter wearing his skin into his kitchen. She is dreaming. She _must_ be.

“It’s really me, kid.”

She wants to cry. She hadn’t realized how desperately she missed the sound of his voice until it was in her ears again.

“How?”

She sounds young. Scared. She hates it. She can’t help it.

“Wish I knew. We’re thinking something yanked me out.”

Her heart is so loud she is sure they can hear it. It is going to burst out of her chest, bloody and gory and awful. She isn’t sure if it will be from the joy or fear warring against each other inside her.

“Jess… it’s really me. I swear.”

She takes a step towards him. He doesn’t move, not even to shift his weight. He waits. He lets her come to him.

That alone is nearly enough to convince her.

For as long as Jessica has known him, he has always let her come to things in her own time. After the fire, after Jessica took care of all the discussions with insurance investigators and fire police and college advisors, Sam tried to convince her they could still have that normal life. They could be more careful, they could hide from the thing that was clearly after his family. 

But Jessica knew. She knew there was no going back. Only moving forward.

So she strong-armed Sam and bullied her way into the backseat of the Impala. She still isn’t sure why Dean let her. But he never coddled her. He never tried to push her, not the way he would push at Sam. He let her figure things out for herself. 

He’s close enough to touch. She reaches out, her hands shaking. She presses her fingers against his sternum. His stomach. His collarbones.

Sam had insisted they bury him. Bobby tried to fight him on it, but Jessica knew there was no point. There was no changing Sam’s mind once he had decided something. Sam had already decided exactly what he was going to do.

So Jessica didn’t fight him. She let Sam dig his brother’s grave and knelt next to Dean’s body, washing the blood from his skin. She cleaned out every cut and gouge the hellhounds left behind. If they were going to bury Dean instead of burning him, Jessica was going to make sure that he was buried well.

Sometimes, she still thinks she can feel his blood caked under her nails. She will wake in the middle of the night like Lady Macbeth, scrubbing her hands until they are red and raw from the soap. _Out, damned spot, out I say —_

“I’m okay,” Dean says softly. Softer than she has maybe ever heard him sound. He lifts his hand, fingers wrapping around her wrist gently. “I don’t even have any scars.”

Jessica’s hand shakes against him. She can feel her pulse pounding against the skin of his palm. His hand feels warm and dry and exactly like she remembers them feeling. It has to be him. It can’t be him. She doesn’t know what to believe.

“I”m dreaming. This is a dream.”

He laughs. It’s small, but it jostles her hand. It rings in her ears.

“You and me both, then, sweetheart.”

Then, more serious — 

“What do you need?”

She closes her eyes. She wishes she knew. It is the question she has avoided asking herself for months, because the answer would have been simple: _something you can’t have._ She doesn’t know what she needs. She doesn’t know how to believe this.

Dean telegraphs every move he makes, lifting his free hand. He touches her shoulder. Her cheek. The back of her head. She closes her eyes and lets herself tip forward, pressing her forehead to his shoulder. 

He holds her the same way he did four months ago, just before walking into an unassuming suburban two-story. One arm tight around her shoulders, holding her close. One hand pressed to the back of her head, heavy and gentle. For the first time in months, Jessica does not feel adrift. She feels anchored.

“You cut your hair,” he says against the top of her head, his words muffled.

“That’s all you have to say?”

“You expect me _not_ to say it? Your hair’s shorter than Sammy’s now.”

“Dean.”

“What? It looks good. Suits you.”

_“Dean — “_

“Fine. What do you want me to say?”

“That you’re not going to die on us again,” she spits, pressing her eyes against his shoulder hard enough that she sees stars. “That you’re really okay.”

“I’m really okay,” he tells her, squeezing her tight. He smells like Bobby’s soap. “I’ll do my best not to die on you again. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Are you? Okay?”

 _No, I’m not, I haven’t been for a long time._ She doesn’t say it out loud. It doesn’t matter.

“Jess — “

“It’s been a long four months,” she says instead.

It is a weightless way to describe the heaviness of life since burying Dean. Every day has been an eternity. Every night has been sleepless or darkened by nightmares. _Long_ doesn’t do the past 139 days justice. Nothing about the last four months have been _okay._

Dean puts his hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her back. She doesn’t want to move. She still isn’t sure that this isn’t a dream. It feels like as soon as she lets go of him, she will wake up in that tiny, dark apartment in Colorado. Alone. Blood on her hands.

“Jessica.”

Not Jess. Jessica. She can’t remember the last time Dean called her _Jessica._ Maybe never. 

“What happened?”

She can’t tell him. She can’t explain it. She can’t admit just how broken they’ve become.

“Where’s Sammy?”

She does her best not to freeze or flinch. She wants to be angry that Bobby didn’t tell him. It took her hours to get here, he couldn’t have explained it to him? She wants to be angry. Upset. Furious that he would leave this burden to her when she’s already been carrying the weight of it for months. But she can’t blame him. She isn’t sure she wouldn’t have done the same.

“We don’t know,” she finally says, willing her voice not to shake. “He doesn’t want to be found.”

“What?”

It isn’t really a question. But now that the words are there, she can’t stop them. 

“He left. The day after — “ She bites her lip and takes a breath. “He left a note. Took one of Bobby’s cars in the middle of the night. We’ve looked for him, but we haven’t — we can’t — “

“Son of a _bitch.”_

She can feel his hands tense on her shoulders. She can see a storm rumbling to life inside him. He is always most angry when it comes to Sam. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. Not because she means it, but because she isn’t sure what else she could say.

“You’re not the one who has anything to be sorry for,” Dean snaps. Jess doesn’t blink. The words are for her, but the anger is for Sam. 

“I know that,” she says. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you.”

He sighs, the sound gusting out of his lungs like thunder. 

“Do you think…”

He trails off, his words disappearing into air. He doesn’t need to finish. Jessica knows what he is trying to ask. It makes sense, after all. Dean is alive. He is free from hell. Sam has been missing for months, hiding himself from the people who care about his well-being the most.

_Do you think he made a deal?_

It makes sense for Dean to ask. Jessica knows it isn’t possible.

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” she tries to say. “We don’t know — “

“What else could it be? What else could have dragged me out of the pit? Why else would Sam have buried me?”

“We don’t know what happened,” she says, her voice firm. Unyielding. “Not yet.”

It isn’t a lie. But it isn’t the truth. She _knows_ that Sam didn’t make a deal. 

Then, because it is the only thing she has been afraid of for months — 

“We don’t even know if he’s alive, Dean.”

It’s the first time she has said it out loud. The fear that Sam is dead somewhere and they just haven’t found him yet. 

“Oh, he’s alive,” Dean says, his words still venomous. “Get me a laptop, I’ll fucking find him.”

* * *


	2. only this and nothing more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is the true beginning of the deconstruction of the deification of Sam and Jess! I know this maybe isn't what a lot of people expect when they think of Sam/Jess, but I really wanted to explore how these two would actually react to this world. I hope that you enjoy it, even if it is a bit unorthodox. 
> 
> Also, it should be noted: this story is not going to be a strict retelling of every episode of the show. That kind of fic is definitely fun and has its place, but that isn't the story I am trying to tell here. Hopefully I leave you enough context clues that you are able to see where my world diverges from canon!
> 
> Title for this chapter comes from "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe. There is also a blink and you miss it reference to Maggie Stiefvater's "The Raven Cycle." I

###  **_chapter two: only this and nothing more_ **

Jessica can’t help but be a little ashamed. She and Bobby have been searching for Sam for months. They’ve talked to what feels like hundreds of people, civilians and hunters alike. Jess has an entire file of possible sightings and rumors that led to nothing but frustration and tears. She has driven across the country on nothing more than the rumor of a tall man with long hair helping someone, desperate for any sign of him. She has checked every morgue with a John Doe between the ages of twenty and thirty. 

None of it ever brought her answers. None of it ever brought her closer to Sam. 

Dean looks at it all, quickly flipping through every loose rumor in her file. He finds Sam in less than four hours.

“I taught him how to lay low,” he says. “And it’s not like he’s trying to hide from  _ me.” _

Jess knows he’s right. It doesn’t help her feel any better. 

What does help, though, is when Dean sees the Impala. He lights up, reaching out to run his fingers over the hood. She doesn’t bother biting back a smile as he talks to it, his voice low and full of joy. A few years ago, she would have rolled her eyes or made a sarcastic joke under her breath to Sam. She knows better now. This car is more a home to Dean and Sam than anywhere else they have ever been.

He looks up at her and there’s something on his face she can’t read. “You’ve had her?”

“Yeah,” Jess replies, knocking her knuckles against the hood. “We’ve gotten pretty close.”

She doesn’t tell him about how she taught herself exactly how to take care of the Impala. She doesn’t tell him about how many mechanics she called to get a second opinion. She doesn’t tell him about how the only times she would call Bobby instead of waiting for him to call were the times when she was terrified she was going to fuck something up with the Impala. 

Jessica doesn’t tell him about the nights where the insomnia and nightmares were too strong to overcome — the nights when she would miss Sam and Dean the most — and how she would leave the warmth and safety of her apartment to stretch out against the cold vinyl of the back seat.

She thinks he can see it anyway.

“She looks good,” Dean says. “Real good. You took good care of her.”

“We took care of each other,” Jess tells him, avoiding his eye. 

She looks up at him. She thinks he looks proud. Her heart aches from how much she has missed him. 

“Good,” he says, voice choked in a way that is all too familiar. 

It feels even more like a dream, sliding into the passenger seat of the Impala while Dean gets behind the wheel. It feels like something sliding into place. The universe righting itself.

Bobby follows them in his truck, so Dean drives closer to the speed limit than she ever remembers him driving before. Jessica closes her eyes. Dean is driving and the Impala is rumbling and even if this is a dream, she isn’t sure if she cares. If it is, she never wants to wake up.

When she opens her eyes and looks out the window, she can see every star in the sky. She tries to believe they are really on their way to finding Sam. She doesn’t know if she can believe it until she sees him. She doesn’t know if even that will be enough.

“What did the note say?”

Jessica blinks, looking away from the night sky. Dean has his eyes fixed on the road, but not in a way that implies focus. It is more that he is making a point to not look at her. She almost laughs. She forgot how many important conversations happened in this car, just like this. 

“You can read it, if you want. It didn’t say much. Just — he had to go. He was sorry. He’d leave the Impala keys for me. He loved me, but couldn’t stay.”

Her voice cracks at the end. She hates this. She hates feeling so  _ small.  _

“Do you really think this wasn’t Sam? Do you really think he didn’t make a deal?”

He speaks softly, not drawing attention to the way she quietly crumbled next to him. She breathes deeply, doing her best to pull herself together.

“I think he probably tried.” 

She hates lying to him, even if it is only by omission. But Jessica was supposed to be the reliable one. She was supposed to be the one that made sure Sam didn’t fall off the deep end. She was supposed to stop him from leaving the keys to his home in her hands and disappearing off on his own.

It’s hard to help someone determined to self-destruct. 

It’s hard to help anyone when you’re just as determined to self-destruct. 

“I think if this was really because Sam made a deal, we would have had this conversation a long time ago,” she says quietly, “not after four months.”

“He shouldn’t have been trying at all.”

He sounds angry. Or frustrated, maybe. The words rasp out roughshod over the rumble of the Impala’s engines. She knows that nothing upsets Dean more than not being able to protect Sam, especially from himself. 

“That’s not up to you. How many times did Sam try to tell you the same thing?”

“That’s not the same.”

Jessica feels like her brain skips, just like a record. 

“It’s exactly the same,” she replies, unable to mask her disbelief. “You think Sam felt any differently than you did? Having to watch you die?”

“Jess — “

“Don’t. I don’t want to fight with you.”

_ “Jess.” _

_ “Dean,”  _ she spits back.

Jessica doesn’t want to be angry at him. She’s missed him too much. She’s spent too many nights wishing to have him back. She doesn’t want to be angry at Sam. She misses him more than anything. She’s spent too many days searching for him. 

It’s hard not to be angry at them when they’re both so  _ stupid  _ and she loves them too much to ever leave them. 

“You can’t get upset with us if we go just as far as you did,” she finally says, her voice quiet. She knows it doesn’t do anything to hide the intensity of her words. “We couldn't live without you either.”

She doesn’t look away from the stars outside the window. She can’t look at him right now. She’s too close to a confession she isn’t ready to give.

“It was supposed to be different,” he says, rough but not angry. “You and Sam — you’ve got each other. You would’ve been all right without me.”

“Does it look like we were all right? I didn’t even know if Sam was alive or dead until an hour ago.”

“It wasn’t  _ supposed to — “ _

“There is no  _ supposed to _ with this _ ,  _ Dean! You don’t get to decide how we handle trauma.”

“Look, I just didn’t think it would end up like this, all right?” 

_ You think I did?  _

The entire year leading up to the end of Dean’s deal, Jessica worried about trying to hold Sam together and trying to make sure Dean didn’t lose himself. She never thought about how she would cope. She never thought about what she would do when Dean was dead and gone for good.

She thought she had survived worse. She thought she would be okay.

She was wrong. 

“You can’t tell me you think Sam should have bled out with a knife to the back.”

“So I should be all right with hellhounds ripping you to shreds instead? This isn’t an either/or question. I don’t think either one of you should  _ bleed out.” _

“If it had to be one of us — “

“Shut the fuck up. Right now.”

Jessica doesn’t find herself angry often. Frustrated and upset are always more likely than anger. Too much of her life has been spent burying anger under fear so she could survive. It always creeps up on her and she never knows how to handle it. She doesn’t think anyone has ever made her so angry as the Winchesters. 

“Why do you think I’m sitting here right now?”

Her voice feels too icy for the warmth of the night.

“What?”

“Why do you think I’m here, Dean? Why do you think I took the Impala after Sam left?”

“You said Sam — “

“It has nothing to do with Sam.”

“Jess, I really don’t have any idea what we’re talking about.”

“Do you really think I’m here with you just because of Sam?”

He doesn’t answer. He might as well just say  _ yes.  _

Jessica didn’t want to have to say this out loud. She knows how badly Dean handles sincerity. Blunt honesty goes a long way with him, but as soon as someone tries to be  _ sincere _ he all but runs for the hills.

He’s going to have to deal with it. Jessica can’t believe someone can be so stupid.

“If you didn’t make that deal, I would still be right here, with you” she says, her voice quiet but with no room for misinterpretation. Not quite as icy, but just as unyielding. “You said that Sam and I had each other. That we would’ve been  _ okay.  _ That’s bullshit. If Sam had really died that night,  _ you  _ would have had me too.”

Her voice is hardly louder than a whisper. It feels like the words are being ripped out from the bottom of her ribcage. Unburied. Exhumed.

“Jess.”

“You’re my brother. You’re  _ family _ . That has nothing to do with Sam. Not anymore. Got it?”

He struggles for a long moment. Jessica wants to break something. She wants to scream and shout until he  _ understands.  _ How can he not see?

“Got it,” he finally says, voice clipped.

“Good,” she replies. “You’re fucking stuck with me, Dean Winchester. Regardless of what Sam and I are to each other.”

“Make for some awkward family dinners,” he says, still sounding choked, “if you and Sam break up.”

“You should be more worried about the fact that I might actually kill him myself as soon as we find him. If he hasn’t gotten himself killed already.”

Dean laughs and Jessica lets herself relax, just a bit. She means it. She is furious with Sam in a way she doesn’t think she has ever been angry with anyone before. But she said it that way on purpose. She knew it would make him laugh. 

“Well, I’d say go easy on him. But…”

“Sorry, you don’t get a vote. There’s no saving him.”

“Yeah, okay, I know better than to get in the middle of that.”

* * *

It’s quiet. Neither of them have moved to turn on the radio, even though they’ve been on the road for hours. Jessica doesn’t mind. She has hated the quiet of the past four months, but this isn’t the same. Quiet is different when you’re alone. Now, with only the thunder of the Impala’s engine to break the silence and with Dean next to her, it isn’t the same. Less lonely. More like home.

She sleeps. Not for very long, but better than she has in months. She wakes up and they’re only a few hours from Pontiac. A few hours from Sam.

It doesn’t feel any more real, now that Jessica has gotten some sleep. Dean is sitting next to her, alive and breathing. They’re heading towards Sam, hopefully just as alive and breathing. As impossible as it feels, she needs to stop questioning and look ahead. Focus on what comes next. 

“Sleep all right?”

Jess hums in response, running a hand through her hair and scrubbing at her eyes. She still isn’t quite used to how short her hair is now. It’s strange, being able to run her hand through it without her fingers catching.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. Are you still okay to drive?”

“I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry about you.”

She doesn’t expect him to laugh. She feels hazy from sleeping. Slow. She can’t make sense of why he laughs like she made a joke. 

“I’m serious,” she snaps, only half annoyed with him. 

“I know you are,” he replies, still laughing. “You’re a regular mother hen.”

“Only to you idiots.”

She’s lying , but that’s okay. He’s making fun of her. Jessica has always been a worrier, even over people she doesn’t know. Even before meeting Sam, she didn’t think that was ever something she would be able to shake. Now she knows there is no escaping it. The Winchesters are in a class all their own. She’ll never be able to stop worrying with them as family.

“Are you sure you don’t need to sleep?”

“I’m good. Really.”

There’s something in the way he says it that makes Jessica pause. Dean often foregoes sleep to drive. Letting Sam drive for him was always like pulling teeth. Jess doesn’t think she drove the Impala for more than five minutes before Dean died. His response is familiar. 

But there’s something about the way he says it. Something that makes her stop, for just a moment. Something in his voice makes her freeze. 

“Dean.”

He groans. “C’mon, Jess, do we really gotta do this?”

“Do what?”

“I know what you’re gonna ask, all right? We don’t have to do this. I’m fine, okay?”

Jessica laughs helplessly. She can’t help it. If she hadn’t already thought that something was wrong, now she would know for sure.

“You telling me ‘ _ I’m fine’ _ is practically an admission of guilt, you know that, right? It’s Winchester for being anything  _ but  _ fine.”

Dean scoffs. She can tell he wants to argue with her, but he knows she’s right. Jessica could probably write an entire guidebook on “How to Speak Winchester” at this point.

“Look, I’m not trying to be pushy — “

“You? Pushy? Never.”

Jess glares at him. “I know what I am. But I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, all right? I just need to know if I should be playing interference with Sam and Bobby or not.”

Dean blinks. He doesn’t reply and keeps his eyes on the road, but Jess thinks that he might be surprised. He shouldn’t be. Jessica has played mediator between the Winchesters often enough over the past three years that they should know better. She knows Sam needs to talk things out until he’s blue in the face, but won’t say a word until you push him. She knows that Dean needs time to process things before they can push him to actually confront it.

She  _ knows _ them. Maybe better than she knows herself, some days.

“Just be honest with me for one question. Okay? I’ll only ask one thing. I just need a yes or a no.”

Dean doesn’t answer. The silence weighs heavy between them. The easy feeling from before is gone. The space from the driver’s seat to the passenger’s side has never felt quite so cavernous. She doesn’t want to fight him on this. But she knows that if she doesn’t, if she lets Sam push when he shouldn’t — it won’t end well. For any of them, but especially not for Dean.

“Okay. Fine.”

Jessica breathes. She doesn’t want to ask. She doesn’t want to know the answer. She has to ask anyway.

“Do you remember it? Hell?”

She keeps her voice pitched low. There’s a beat, after she speaks. A lingering pause of dead silence before he answers. His voice is just as heavy as the silence, somber and terrible.

“Every second.”

Jessica bites her lip so she doesn’t react. A thousand questions tumble through her head. Her heart aches and her hands itch to reach out to him. She wants, more than anything, to find some way to make this better. To keep him talking until she knows exactly what he needs. 

But she promised. She promised not to ask. Nothing she could say would make it better anyway.

“Okay,” she says instead, biting back every empty platitude that comes to mind. 

The space between them still feels enormous. Yawning. Jessica can’t stand it. She can’t handle it. She doesn’t stop to think about whether she should stay put her not. She acts on impulse and pushes herself as close to Dean as she can. He startles a bit. Pulling his eyes away from the road to look at her for just a moment. 

He doesn’t fight her when she presses a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m really glad you’re back,” she says softly.

His throat works for a moment, silent. She knows from experience that he’s fighting his own instincts. If John Winchester weren’t already dead, Jessica might kill him herself. If she ever meets Lilith herself, Jessica will kill her as soon as she figures out how. No one’s first instinct should be to shy away from comfort.

“I missed you.”

There is something terrible behind his words. A heaviness she can’t quite make sense of yet. 

He reaches out and his hand falls to the back of her neck. This isn’t a touch he has ever given her, but it’s familiar anyway. She’s watched him grip the back of Sam’s neck just like this a thousand times. To guide and comfort. To direct. To hold. His hand is warm and firm and she feels grounded. 

“Is it okay if I ask something less traumatizing now?”

He squeezes her neck a bit, dragging his hand along her shoulder as he lets her go. “Yeah, why not. Go for it.”

“Do you remember anything about what pulled you out?”

He stretches his neck, hands twisting against the steering wheel. “Not really,” he says, his voice lighter. “Just — light. I remember one hell of a light show.”

“And when you woke up, you said — “

“Crawled out of my grave and everything was levelled. Like a fucking bomb had gone off. Not long after that, something powerful was practically on top of me. Made my ears bleed. Literally.”

“You ever seen anything like that before?”

“Sure haven’t. Whatever it was… it's bad news.”

Jessica sighs, wracking her brain. She has spent the past four months reading about hellbound souls. Longer than that, really. She's been reading about souls bound for hell ever since Dean made his deal. But she can’t think of anything she read that could be something like  _ this.  _

“Some of the ghosts we’ve seen have made us bleed like that. And there’s plenty of creatures that can kill with the sound of their voice. Sirens and banshees for one, but they aren’t strong enough to pull someone out of hell.”

“So it had to be a demon, right?”

Jessica taps her fingers against her knee. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Maybe? What else could it have been, Jess?”

“I don’t  _ know.  _ Lore on this isn’t easy, okay? It’s buried under thousands of years of a dozen different religions. It’s hard to tell what parts are substantial and what was warped by the Church to scare people out of sinning. I could list about eight angels written about in Judeo-Christian texts that could manage it, but something tells me that’s not exactly what you’re looking for.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, no. Not exactly.”

“Well, that’s the best I’ve got and I already know it’s bullshit. We know that reapers are the ones shepherding souls to the afterlife, not Saint Michael. There’s plenty of lore on hell in pagan religions, but I don’t know what kind of access pagan gods actually have to the afterlife outside of myth.”

“And you don’t think this is a demon? Really?”

“It might be. But it doesn’t sound like a deal to me.”

Dean scoffs. “I wake up in a coffin four months after I bite it and it doesn’t sound like a deal to you?”

“No, Dean, it doesn’t,” Jessica snaps. She knows that her voice is sharper than she really means it to be. She isn’t frustrated with  _ him.  _ She’s frustrated with herself, for being so unwilling to just tell him the truth. “Sam didn’t remember dying. Neither did you.”

Dean falls silent. She knows what it means, her bringing up John’s deal. His deal. 

She looks out at the horizon, waiting for Dean to decide where to take the conversation next. The sun is starting to rise. The sky is just beginning to shift from blacks and blues to a more ominous red.  _ Red sky at morning —  _

“I don’t know why you’re so sure Sam didn’t deal,” Dean finally says, tension in every word. 

_ I know because I buried boxes at three different crossroads before I accepted they were never going to let you go. _

“I don’t want to fight with you, Dean,” she replies, knowing her voice is impossibly soft under the noise of the Impala. “Not now. Can we just… find Sam? And then… then we can…”

She trails off. She still can’t believe that Sam is really going to be at the end of this road.  _ Finding Sam  _ is just as impossible of a thing for her to believe to be true as walking into Bobby’s kitchen and seeing  _ Dean alive.  _ She’s wished for it too much. 

“Okay, Jess,” Dean says, the fight bleeding out of his voice.

* * *

Jessica barely remembers meeting Sam for the first time.

She was in her sophomore year and on night three of no sleep. It was the height of finals season and the stress of studying sessions always brought up too many memories. Times when she had to study in secret or when the only thing that could save her was doing her homework at the library until it closed. She was exhausted. The last place she wanted to be was at a party full of people she had never met, dragged there by someone who would abandon her in five minutes. 

But she thought maybe she could wear herself down enough to sleep. So she was there anyway, drunk off a cup and a half of punch. She only realized after the first cup that she couldn’t remember the last time she ate anything substantial.

The way Sam tells it, she started arguing with him about the societal dangers of letting teenagers participate in Greek life at college unattended. Apparently, she had barely waited for them to be introduced. Jessica doesn't remember that. All Jess is remembers is someone very tall and very sweet leading her to the kitchen of a house neither of them knew and getting her a glass of water.

She doesn’t remember the classmate she barely knew introducing them. She doesn’t remember what they talked about. But she remembers the way his hands felt when they brushed against hers as he handed her that glass of water. She remembers the curve of his smile.

She met him again three days later when he sat across from her at the library, voice soft and hands fluttering nervously. It wasn’t until he smiled that she remembered him.

Jessica was already in her second year of college and still felt just as out of place as she had her entire life. But when Sam smiled at her in the library, she felt something unfamiliar and warm flutter in her chest. Something like  _ hope.  _

_ Maybe I can have this,  _ she thought.  _ Maybe I can have him. Maybe there is somewhere I could fit. _

Later, Jessica would laugh at how desperately she and Sam both clung to the same  _ maybe.  _ They were both so desperate to have something  _ normal,  _ something that wasn’t entrenched in fear and anxiety and pain. They were so desperate to run from a past they felt they couldn’t face, neither of them were really able to see the other. 

If they hadn’t moved in together, Jessica thinks they might not have lasted as long as they have. But they did. It made all the difference.

Living together meant that there was no more hiding. Sam couldn’t laugh off how particular he was about food anymore because Jessica would notice if he skipped meals. Jessica couldn’t joke about her insomnia anymore because Sam knew it wasn’t a joke when she said it had been three days since she had slept.

Jessica couldn’t hide how quiet she got when they could hear the neighbors screaming at each other. She couldn’t hide how the sound of sirens always made her freeze up. She couldn’t hide the dissociative spells when it felt like her body wasn’t her own. Sam couldn’t hide how an unfamiliar noise would wake him out of a dead sleep. He couldn’t hide the way he would check every door and window three times before going to bed. He couldn’t hide the way he would stare at the same number in his phone, never pressing  _ dial.  _

It was like meeting each other all over again.

One night — Jessica was so tired she could hardly remember her own name. She was afraid she would have to let Sam take her to the hospital because no matter what she tried, she could not sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time she had to let herself be admitted for a few nights so that she could be put under. She was terrified and exhausted and wanted nothing more than to be able to close her eyes. She didn’t want to go to the hospital, but nothing else  _ worked _ . 

Then Sam came home.

He took one look at her before he took her by the hand and led her to the bathtub. He undressed her without a word, lifting her up in his arms and settling her into the warm water. He sat on the edge of the tub, a hole in the knee of his pyjama pants, and washed her hair. She fell asleep in the warm water with Sam’s hands in her hair. She woke up the next afternoon in her most comfortable pyjamas, Sam reading beside her while he ran his fingers through her hair.. 

Another night, only a few weeks after they moved in — the first night he woke from a nightmare. She was still awake, but in a way where she wasn’t sure yet if she would be able to sleep or not. Two hours earlier, Sam spent twenty minutes checking every door and window in the apartment. When they moved in, she remembers how he spent hours on every door and window frame. She remembers thinking that she didn’t realize he could be so good with his hands.

_ Just reinforcing them,  _ he told her. She didn’t question it. She could tell it was important to him. That’s all that mattered to her. 

Every night, Sam completed the same circuit. Starting and ending with the front door and checking each and every door and window. That night was different. He circled once-twice-three more times before finally settling into bed next to her. When he woke two hours later, it was with a sudden and gasping breath.

She recognized the look in his eye. So she took him by the hand as soon as he had his breath and walked him through the circuit herself. When they reached the end of the path, she rubbed her thumb against his cheekbone. She whispered  _ I love you  _ for the first time.

They still clung to those  _ maybes  _ of before. They still dreamed about lives where they could be  _ normal.  _ But they didn’t put each other on pedestals anymore. When they looked at each other, they didn’t see a dream come to life. They just saw  _ Sam  _ and  _ Jess.  _

That Sam and Jess feel far away from her now.

Four months and counting. It is the longest she has ever gone without seeing Sam since they met. The Jessica she was four months ago feels almost as far away from her as the Jessica she was in that humid apartment. 

She wonders what he’ll see when he looks at her now. 

She wonders what  _ she’ll  _ see.

* * *

They pull into Pontiac and it has only been about 30 hours since Jessica left Colorado. It feels like too little time for her whole world to have shifted so acutely. It doesn’t feel like enough time for her to accept that it’s about to change again even more.

Pontiac isn’t as large as she was expecting, but it’s still big enough that they have to split up to search for Sam. Jessica wonders if maybe they should have waited before leaving Bobby’s. If they had stopped to rest for a few hours, they would have pulled into Pontiac in the evening instead. It would have given them less places to have to search. 

But they didn’t wait, so they’re splitting up. 

Dean drops her off in the center of town. She’ll check any of the motels that are in the thick of things and check the storefronts. Just to be sure. Bobby already headed in the direction of the library and police station, just in case Sam is here on a case. Dean will drive to the motels on the outskirts of town, the kinds they normally stay at that are out of the way.

Jessica doesn’t feel like she can breathe. She has searched a hundred different towns for Sam just like this. Anxious and trying not to look it. Too warm for the jacket she has to wear to hide her knife and gun and flask of holy water. She isn’t sure what she’ll do if it turns out Dean was wrong and Sam isn’t here after all. How long will they stay here, searching every inch of town before realizing he’s gone or was never here at all? 

She hates it. She plays dumb with motel clerks . Spins some story about meeting her boyfriend in town, but not remembering what motel he said he would be waiting for her at. She pretends she doesn’t see the motel clerks leering at her, trying to look down her shirt even when they’re half a foot shorter than she is. By the time she’s on her way to the last motel within walking distance, she is itching for her knife.

She’s only a few blocks away when she pauses. There’s a woman standing on the corner, a stack of flyers in her hands. Jessica isn’t sure what it is about her that makes her pause. She’s short, her hair hanging around her face in loose, dark waves. She looks sweet. Younger than she probably is.

Nothing about her should make Jessica stop.

But she does.

Jess ducks into the coffeeshop that is to her left. She orders a drink and watches the woman through the storefront window. When people pass her by, she smiles. She talks to them and hands them a flyer. She looks them in the eye, her own eyes big and brown and guileless.

As soon as she’s alone, it’s like a switch flips. Her expression goes flat. Every bit of body language turns from  _ innocent-sweet-harmless  _ to something coiled and sharp. She watches the diner across the street like she’s casing it.

It’s strange. It’s strange, but it doesn’t explain why every instinct Jessica has in her is screaming  _ run.  _ It doesn’t explain why she seems  _ familiar.  _

She doesn’t have time to figure it out. She has one last place to check before she needs to call Dean and Bobby. She can figure out the mystery of this woman later. Once they find Sam, then she can figure out why this girl is setting off every alarm bell in her head. 

As soon as she sees the motel, she knows that she has found him. It is the exact opposite of the kind of place she knows Sam would choose. Everything about it is anathema to  _ Sam Winchester.  _ If he was trying to hide from her, this is where he would go.

The motel clerk confirms it. “Real tall guy, right? Yeah, he’s here. Checked into 207 about an hour ago. Brunette girlie dropped him off.” 

It is only through practice that Jessica does not visibly react.  _ Brunette?  _ She smiles and thanks him and slips down the hall towards 207. She hides behind the ice machine before she reaches the door. She closes her eyes. She tries to breathe.

Sam is alive. Sam isn’t alone. Someone dropped him off. He’s working with someone. 

Jessica doesn’t have time to question it. Not yet. She needs to call Dean. Bobby. Let them know that she found him. They agreed — wait until they are all together before confronting him. They don’t know what he’ll do or if he had anything to do with Dean’s resurrection. They don’t know if he’ll run, but they don’t want to risk it. Not after he already ran from them once. 

But how can she  _ wait?  _

She texts Dean the address and room number. Then she does the selfish thing. She knocks on the door marked 207. 

It swings open almost immediately and Sam is  _ there.  _

Four months, nearly five if she’s being honest with herself . It’s been so long that she can’t help but think this is just another  _ first  _ for them. It feels just as momentous as when he sat down across from her in the library. Or when they moved in together. 

Looking at him now — she remembers the fire. 

Her back  _ burned.  _ The pain was worse than anything she had ever felt in her life. It hurt so much she couldn’t think. There was nothing else in her world except pain. She remembers how Dean’s hands felt, immovable and rough around her biceps. He dragged her out of the heat and the smoke, out  _ out out _ into the middle of the street. She remembers how the asphalt dug into her kneecaps.

She remembers looking up at Sam while his brother made sure she was covered, pulling off his coat to cover the ashy remnants of a nightgown she couldn’t remember owning. Her back was still open to the night air, the skin bloody and bubbling and terrible, but Dean made sure that she was hidden from onlookers. Sam’s face was covered in ash and dirt, but streaked in places from tears. He crouched down to kneel in front of her, looking at her like she really had burned up in the home they made together.

It hurt to look at him, to feel his hand on her face. She still doesn’t know if it was because of the burns on her back or because she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. That  _ they  _ would never be the same again.

Looking at him now — it feels exactly like that. 

“Jess,” he says, her name sounding like a prayer.

“Sam,” she says, his name sounding like a eulogy.

“How did you…”

“Does it matter? I’ve been looking for you.”

“Jess — “

She slides into the room past him, carefully taking a look around. There’s not much to see. His bag is on the end of the bed. His laptop is open on the table. It doesn’t feel like she is looking at a room Sam is staying in. There are no books or sheafs of loose notes to cross reference or local maps. She feels like she’s looking at a stranger’s room. 

“Is it worth asking for an explanation?”

Sam closes the door. He looks nervous. Not quite contrite, but unsure. She doesn’t think she has seen him look at her like this since California. Since Stanford. But there’s something different. Something unfamiliar. Jess can’t quite meet his eye. 

“Jess…”

“Nevermind. I guess not,” she replies. 

“I’m  _ sorry.” _

_ Are you? _

It isn’t fair of her. Not really. He  _ does  _ sound sorry. He sounds wrecked in a way that she wishes she wasn’t as familiar with as she is. But Jessica doesn’t know if the apology is for the right reasons. Is he just sorry that he left and that she got hurt? Is he sorry that he dropped off the face of the Earth? Does he know what  _ not knowing  _ did to her?

She knows, without a shadow of the doubt, the answer.  _ No.  _ He has no idea what he put her through. No idea how she’s lived these past four months.

Jessica should have waited for Bobby and Dean. She can’t do this.

“Jess, I’m sorry. I just — I needed — “

“Stop,” she interrupts. She feels like she can’t breathe. This is nothing like how Jessica thought finding him would go. 

She can’t look at him. She can’t listen to him rationalize leaving her. She can’t listen to him try to defend why letting her believe he might be dead was the  _ right choice.  _ She thought she wanted explanations. She thought she wanted to hear  _ why.  _

Now that he’s standing in front of her — she can’t even look at him.

“Okay,” he says, placating. “Okay. Sorry.”

Dean’s words echo in her skull.  _ It was supposed to be different.  _ If only he knew.

“Bobby’s on his way,” Jessica says, trying to breathe normally. “There’s something you need to see.”

She knows that he is looking at her. She can imagine the exact look on his face. Wide-eyed and earnest and desperate to  _ make things right.  _ She still can’t bear to look at him. If she looks at him, she knows that she will listen to every excuse he has in him. 

“Did something happen?”

His voice is soft. He knows she is upset and trying to fix it. Under that, though — he sounds genuinely confused. Jessica knows she was right. However Dean came back, it doesn’t have anything to do with Sam. 

“We can talk about it when Bobby gets here.”

She can’t imagine what will happen when Bobby and Dean actually arrive. Not with Dean so utterly convinced that Sam is responsible for his resurrection. Not with Sam obviously in the dark, guaranteed to believe that Dean is some kind of trick. 

“At least tell me you’re okay?”

Jess doesn’t want to look at him. She can’t stop herself any longer. She turns and he looks so  _ worried.  _ She is still so  _ mad  _ at him. She forgot how difficult it was to stay mad at Sam Winchester when he looked at her like that.

“No, Sam. I’m not okay.” 

She wants to sound as angry as she feels. She doesn’t want to have to explain this to him. She wants him to  _ understand.  _ It used to be so easy, once upon a time. They could look at each other and just know what the other needed to pull themselves back up again. He would know that all she needed was for him to take her by the hand and wash her hair. She wants that back. She wants him to look at her and just  _ know.  _

Jessica knows that isn’t fair of her. It doesn’t stop her from wanting it.

_ “Jess.”  _

He sounds heartbroken. Suddenly, being angry at him isn’t quite so hard anymore.

“Do you have any idea how many morgues I searched?”

He freezes. “You were looking for me in morgues?”

“It’s not the only place I looked,” she snaps. “But it was one of the first.”

“Why?”

“You left the  _ Impala.  _ You think I don’t know what that meant?”

Jessica watches as her words flick a switch. One moment, he is confused and upset and desperate to try to make things right. It’s aching in how familiar it is to her. The next, everything about him changes. He stands straighter — something about the way he holds his shoulders changes and it makes him seem even taller. His face immediately drops all expression. 

“I told you,” he says, avoiding her eye and voice flat, “I couldn’t — “

“ — stay. I know. Don’t lie to me, Sam.”

“I’m not lying. I didn’t make any deals.”

Just like that — Sam is unrecognizable to her.

He says it with such conviction. As if it is the whole truth and nothing but He says it the same way he says something he really believes. She has heard that tone of voice a hundred times over in a hundred different ways for a hundred different reasons. If Jessica didn’t know what she knew, she would believe him. 

_ You always said he would be an excellent lawyer.  _

“I know,” she says, feeling numb. “I know you didn’t.”

He relaxes. He looks like the Sam she knows again. Jessica feels cold. She doesn’t take any comfort in the familiarity. 

“But it wasn’t because you didn’t try.”

_ Sorry, honey,  _ the last demon had told her, _ but Dean Winchester is right where we want him. You and your boy toy can kill as many of us as you like. He’ll still be in the pit, screaming your names.  _

Her voice still echoes in Jessica’s ears. Both of the other crossroads demons she summoned told her the same. Jessica didn’t want to believe them, but for some reason — the last demon she believed. Something about the way she said it. The pleasure she took in Jessica’s grief. After that, she knew. Dean’s soul was forfeit. They would never let him go. 

Sam would know it just as well as she does. If Jessica visited three crossroads, she can’t imagine how many Sam must have gone to. But he doesn’t know that Jess knows it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t try to get away with a truth so close to being a lie. 

“You think you’re the only one who went to a crossroad?”

It takes him a moment to realize exactly what she means. She can see, though, the moment it clicks. The strange, blank look slides off his face. He looks at her like now she is the one who is unrecognizable. 

“You tried to make a deal?”

“Of course I did,” she snaps. “So did you!”

“I had to try. I  _ had  _ to and you would have stopped me. He sold his soul because of me. He’s my  _ brother.” _

“He’s my family too!”

Sam blinks at her. Jessica really cannot believe how stupid these two are when it comes to people caring about them. 

“He’s my brother too,” she repeats, quieter. “You made sure of that. I wouldn’t have stopped you. I would have been right there next to you.”

He stares at her, still looking at her as if he doesn’t recognize her. An old voice, one she hasn’t heard since before Stanford, whispers at the back of her skull —  _ you are unknowable.  _ It has been so long, she almost forgot what that particular part of herself sounded like. Young and afraid and desperate.

She doesn’t want to be that person again. She has to keep looking forward.

“I didn’t know,” he says, voice soft and shocked. 

“You should have talked to me,” she says, trying not to snap at him. “You would have known if you hadn’t just left in the middle of the night.”

“You’re right,” he says. “I shouldn’t have left like that, but — Jess. He’s there because of  _ me.  _ I had to do something.”

“It’s not because of  _ you.  _ Even if it was — “

“He only  _ made  _ the deal to save me. How is that not my fault?”

“Dean is an adult, Sam. You didn’t make the choice for him.”

“It doesn’t matter! He’s in hell because of me!”

“No, it is because he thought he couldn’t live without you. That doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s about  _ him.” _

“It had  _ everything  _ to do with me, Jess!”

“Fine! Maybe it did! That doesn’t make it your  _ fault.” _

“I tried everything,” he says, voice just as broken as it had been that night four months ago. “Nothing worked. I couldn’t save him.”

Jessica can feel her anger still burning behind her breastbone. It isn’t quite as hot as it had been before. Part of her still wants to shout or reach out and shake him, anything to make him  _ see.  _ The larger part of her knows it won’t work. She recognizes the grief under every word. She’s felt it every day since he left. Since they lost Dean.

She has never been one to pray. Her mother went to Mass every Sunday and Holy Day, dragging her along. None of it ever really stuck with Jess. But she prays now. She prays to whatever it was that kept Sam alive these past four months. She prays thanks to whatever kept him out of a morgue.

“Come here,” she says, voice softer than it’s been since she knocked on his door. He looks up at her and she can tell he’s torn. Conflicted. She holds out her hand and waits. They are so far away from the Sam and Jess that they used to be, but she believes they aren’t too far gone yet. 

It takes longer than it ever has in the past. But Sam takes her hand. 

Jessica pulls him to her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. It forces him to bend and make himself smaller, to let her lead him. She sighs as he presses his face into her neck. She closes her eyes, moving one hand to the back of his neck. Jessica went and got all her hair chopped off, but she doesn’t think Sam has had his cut at all since she last saw him. 

“Everything is going to be okay,” she whispers, knowing he will never believe her. Not now, before he’s seen Dean. When she barely believes it herself. She says it anyway.

“How can it ever be okay again?”

His voice is hushed. Muffled against her skin. She rubs her hand against the back of his neck. Her palm catches on the cord of Dean’s amulet, hidden under his shirt. She can feel him crumbling, every part of the straight-backed and unfamiliar Sam gone now. She prays again, begging for Dean to just  _ get here.  _

“You’ll see,” she says, her voice stronger now. “Trust me. It’s going to be okay.”

Jessica hopes it’s true. Even now, holding and being held by Sam for the first time in four months, Jess knows they aren’t okay. Not Sam, not Jess, certainly not their relationship. Something is broken. She wants to believe it will be okay. That they can make it okay. She just doesn’t know  _ how.  _

There’s a knock on the door.

Jessica breathes a sigh of relief. At least one thing she  _ can  _ fix. She pulls back from Sam, sliding her hand from his neck to his face. He closes his eyes, his chest shuddering with every breath. Jess leans forward and presses her forehead against Sam’s. She pushes his hair behind his ear even though she knows it won’t stay. As soon as she moves her hand, it will fall again. 

“Baby,” she says, her voice breaking on the old pet name,  _ “trust me.” _

He shivers against her and for a moment, Jessica forgets how broken they are and how hurt they are. She forgets everything except for Sam, here in her arms and under her hands and  _ alive  _ and  _ breathing.  _ She closes her eyes and presses her forehead against Sam’s, not enough to hurt but enough for it to be less  _ touch  _ and more  _ pressure.  _

“I’m still mad at you,” she says, keeping her eyes shut tight, “but I love you. You know that. Right?”

He laughs, hands sliding under her jacket to grip her hips. “I know. Of course I know. Jess, I don’t… I don’t think I’m good for anyone right now. But I love you too. You know that.”

“I do,” she says, keeping her eyes firmly shut.

Jessica stays in his arms, holding them together, for a moment longer. She lets herself pretend that everything will be the way it was before. That they can hold each other like this and everything else will just fade away because when they’re together, they’re just  _ Sam  _ and  _ Jess.  _ She wants that. She wants that back more than anything. Here, holding each other like this, it almost feels like she can  _ have  _ it.

Then — another knock at the door. 

“Bobby?” Sam asks.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me — “

“No. I’ll get it.”

Jessica stays where she is for a moment longer. She doesn’t want to let him go. Sam’s grip on her waist goes tight for just a second and she knows that he feels the same. For now, here in this moment, they are still on the same page. They are still  _ Sam  _ and  _ Jess.  _

Then, he’s sliding away from her. Out of her grip. Away so it’s just Sam. Jess.

She opens her eyes and he lifts his hand to run his hand through her hair. She wants to ask him what he thinks of it. Does he think it suit her as much as she feel it does? Has he guessed why she cut it all off? She doesn’t ask. He says nothing. He just leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead, just above the mole between her eyes. 

Then, Sam steps away from her. Jessica lets him go. 

She opens the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this update! The next one may be a little bit farther off than this one, but I hope this was lengthy enough and had enough emotional impact to tide you over. I had a lot of fun writing this one, especially the scenes with Jess and Dean in the Impala and the flashbacks to Stanford. Please let me know what you think! If you want to come hang with me, you can find me on both [Tumblr](https://ao3-kenopsiia.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ao3_kenopsiia)!


	3. instead of the cross, the albatross

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this is a hefty update! There's a lot going on here in terms of both world-building for how this world is going to deviate and diverge from canon, but also in terms of backstory for Jess especially! I am so incredibly excited to share this chapter with you. Every single one of these scenes were so much fun to write. I think it is also safe to say that after reading this chapter, you probably won't question why I have this titled as "self-indulgent drivel" in my Google Drive!
> 
> The title for this chapter comes from "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. There is also an explicit reference to it in the text, along with references to the Greek myth of Atlas.

###  **_chapter three: instead of the cross, the albatross_ **

Jessica has a complicated relationship with religion.

Her mother was a militant Catholic. Jess has more memories sitting in the uncomfortable pews at St. Catherine’s than anywhere else. Every Sunday and every Holy Day, no matter how obscure, Jessica would be sitting next to her mother and listening to her chant in Latin. Looking back, she is grateful that her mother wasn’t like the other good Catholic families at Mass who had litters of children streaming behind them. At least Jessica was the only child who had to live in the Moore house. 

When Jess was very young, she would try to ask questions.  _ Why are they ringing the bells? What are they eating? Is that really Jesus in there?  _ She would ask, again and again, but no answer was ever enough. 

By the time she turned nine, she learned to stop asking questions. She would never get the answers she wanted. Not from her parents. Not from the Church. 

By fourteen, Jessica stopped believing God would give her anything she wanted at all.

She hated the Church. She hated the rigor. The rituals. The blind obedience. The way no one ever wanted to ask  _ why.  _ More than anything, she hated how everyone believed that  _ devout  _ was synonymous with  _ good. _

But even as much as she hated it, St. Catherine’s was the safest place she ever knew before Stanford. It was the one place where Jessica knew she never had to be afraid. She had to move across the country to find a place that would bring her as much calm as those stiff pews and stained kneelers, images of angels frozen in stained glass staring down at her.

Even now, years and years later, being in a cathedral always feels safer to her than anyplace else she has ever known. Sometimes, she finds herself reciting Latin prayers when her insomnia is particularly bad. 

Religion is a drug she quit, but can never really be free from it. 

Learning that demons are real only made everything more complicated. 

Now, she has proof — concrete proof that holiness is  _ real _ and not just a pretty lie made up to get people to follow tradition. Hell is  _ real,  _ it’s not some fairytale punishment for children who misbehaved. Everything she was taught might not have been true, but it is not as baseless as she had imagined it being.

Jessica hates it.

Now, she is supposed to believe that  _ angels  _ pulled Dean out of the pit. That they are here, walking the Earth for the first time in thousands of years, because they are trying to stop the  _ Apocalypse.  _ That Lilith is the one behind it, just like she was the one behind Dean’s deal.

Maybe there is a God after all. Why else would Jessica’s life suddenly be filled with such pointed irony?

* * *

It had taken a long time for Jessica to learn exactly how to live on the road. In the very beginning, she thought she might murder them both. She barely knew Dean, except that he saved her life and meant the world to Sam. She felt like an outsider between the two of them. They were so casually familiar with each other. Effortlessly knowing exactly how to navigate around the other’s space. 

It was well-worn. Routine. But it had been a long time since they had been in such close quarters together. 

It was an adjustment. For all of them.

It didn’t help that in the early days after the fire, Jessica didn’t travel with them as much. First, she was recovering and going to physical therapy and ignoring every call she received with an area code from the East Coast. Then she was tying up loose ends with the insurance investigators and with Stanford and with her job. 

She talked to Sam more on the phone for the first few months after the fire than she ever did in person. By the time she joined them for good, Jessica was so relieved to not be on her own anymore that it didn’t seem as important that she always seemed to be a few pages behind the brothers.

Eventually, they found ways to compromise. They found ways to live in each other’s pockets. Dean stopped pointing out how long it had been since Jessica slept or when Sam had nightmares. Jessica learned that it was better to let Sam and Dean run themselves down before trying to sleep or not saying anything when they decided to drink for the fifth night in a row. Sam learned to let certain arguments with his brother go so that Jess could stop playing peacemaker.

It was hard. But they adapted. They found a rhythm with each other. 

They’re all out of sync now.

Part of it is her and Sam. She knows it. They haven’t talked about where exactly they stand. They aren’t  _ together, _ but Jessica doesn’t know how to definite them outside of that. It translates to stretches of time where things feel okay and normal. Then a moment where one of them will reach for the other like before and remember.

She hates it. 

But it’s worse than that. If it were just Sam and Jess, they could handle that. They could manage it. 

The worst of it is Dean. 

Jessica didn’t know it was possible to grieve someone who was still alive. But even when he is standing right next to them, there are times where it doesn’t feel like anything has changed. She slides right back into the numbness of overwhelming grief. It still feels like she is alone. Dean is right next to her and Sam isn’t missing, but it  _ feels  _ like it.

She can see that it’s the same for Sam.

Jessica hasn’t felt so restless since before she moved to California. She doesn’t know what town they’re in now. They’ve stopped for the night. They’re on their way to a case, but she didn’t pay attention to the details. She would have preferred if they kept driving, but Sam and Dean bot get twitchy when she suggests driving while in the middle of an insomnia bout.

They’re right to worry, maybe. But Jessica has been functioning on no sleep for most of her life.

Jessica doesn’t even bother to settle into the motel room. She just checks to make sure she has her knife and her gun. She makes sure her jacket is warm enough for the chill in the air.

“I think I’m going to take a walk,” she says, aiming for casual. 

She must miss the mark. 

Sam and Dean both look up at her before immediately turning to look at each other. It’s familiar and infuriating in equal measure. She can see them trying to find a way to talk her out of it. Or how to convince her to let one of them join her. 

Jessica has missed them more than anything. She has not missed  _ this.  _

“I’ll be fine,” she says before they can say anything. “I just want to find a park or something. Get some air. I’m not getting any sleep tonight.”

“Jess — “

“Sam. I’m okay. I slept for a few hours this morning. I just don’t want to spend all night awake in a motel room. Okay?”

Sam and Dean look at each other again. She knows they are having one of their silent, nearly telepathic conversations. If she really wanted to, she thinks she might be able to follow it. Not tonight. Tonight, Jessica just wants someplace  _ open.  _ Someplace where she can breathe. 

So she ignores them. 

“Good night, boys,” Jessica calls before sweeping out of the room. They’ll sulk in the morning, but Jessica doesn’t care. She has been taking care of herself since she was fourteen. Longer than that, really. She knows when her insomnia is something she can’t handle and she isn’t anywhere near it yet.

Whatever town they stopped in, it’s a small one. It’s not too late, but it’s late enough that the streets are empty. Jessica walks, her own footsteps the only sound aside from a few cicadas that haven’t sunk back into hibernation.

She hates how distant things feel now. She knows that the strangeness will pass. They’ll find a way to deal with their various traumas from the past four months. But they aren’t the same people they were before facing Lilith. They’re different now. They just need to learn how to be together again. 

_ It will pass,  _ she tells herself.  _ You just need time. _

It doesn’t help. Jessica feels like a stranger in her own life. 

She sighs and meanders away from the streetlights. There’s a well-worn, but poorly kept path through a copse of trees and Jessica follows it. She can already feel the tension in her chest easing when she’s out of view from the street. The path leads to what seems to be an abandoned campground. There’s a firepit that is half-destroyed and rotting picnic bench.

She looks up and sees stars. 

Jessica sighs again, sitting on the uncomfortable picnic bench. She looks up at the night sky, thinking of the pews at St. Catherine’s. The hazy sky in Palo Alto. She thinks of the hot, sticky nights when she would lie in the backseat of the Impala back in Colorado.

She feels just as lost now as she did then. Adrift. She feels fifteen all over again.

“Hey there, gorgeous.”

Jessica immediately reaches for her knife, jumping to her feet and spinning around. There, from the same path she just walked, is a woman. She’s short and her hair is dark. She’s wearing a leather jacket and Jessica can tell she has at least one knife tucked into her boot. She’s undeniably beautiful and undeniably dangerous. There’s something in her eye that makes Jessica want to run.

She’s — familiar.

_ The girl from Pontiac, _ Jess remembers.  _ A brunette dropped Sam off at the motel. There was a woman driving the car he got into the night Dean summoned Castiel when you tried to follow him. _

“Ruby?”

She smiles, sauntering over to sit on the picnic bench. She walks the same way as she did before, though she’s a good three inches shorter than the blonde that Jessica remembers. It feels like looking at a magic eye puzzle. 

“I’m impressed. How’d you know it was me?”

“You were in Pontiac. Same as Sam,” she answers. “But — “

_ I just know. _

She doesn’t say it. Ruby sees it on the tip of her tongue anyway. She smirks and it is the same look that Jessica saw a dozen times before. It feels strange to see it on another body. 

“Mm, you’re sweet,” she croons. “You’re good, too.”

“What are you doing here?”

Ruby’s gaze goes flat. It’s an even more familiar look to see from her than the smirk. It’s the  _ wow you are all idiots  _ look. Jessica almost wants to laugh.

“Aw, c’mon. I  _ just  _ said I was impressed. Don’t disappoint me now, sunshine.”

Jessica rolls her eyes and puts her knife away. She knows that their history with Ruby has been tumultuous. She was too secretive. Too arrogant. Too sure of the fact that she was indispensable. Sam never trusted her entirely because she never gave him the full picture. Dean never trusted her entirely because she was too good to be true. 

But Dean’s time was numbered and they were desperate. So despite every misgiving, they kept listening to her. Because they had to believe there was a way out.

It was always more complicated than that for Jessica. Because she always knew the truth. No matter how hard they tried, no matter what they did — they weren’t going to be able to save Dean. She didn’t want to believe it. She lied to herself over and over again. But in her heart, she knew the truth. They lost Dean as soon as he made it to that crossroads.

Even knowing the truth, Jessica trusted Ruby more than either of the Winchesters ever did. She still isn’t entirely sure why. 

She sighs and sits down again. Ruby’s on top of the picnic table, boots propped up on the bench seat. Jessica’s shoulders brush against her knee. She leans back and Ruby leans forward. Jessica watches while she drapes one arm across her knees, propping her chin up with her other hand so she can look down at Jess.

Jessica can still see the whites of Ruby’s eyes, but they are just as pitch black as if she couldn’t. 

“I mean  _ here  _ as in here, talking to me,” Jess replies. “Obviously you’re the reason Sam’s been sneaking out when Dean and I aren’t looking.”

“Hey, I didn’t tell him to sneak anywhere. That’s on him.”

“Were you helping him? Hunt demons?”

Ruby shrugs and Jessica can tell that she’s aiming for disaffected. “Figured he needed something to focus on. Murdering crossroads demons tends to put a target on your back. Hell tends to get touchy about that sort of thing.”

“And Lilith? Does she still…?”

“Want Sam’s head on a pike?” Ruby asks, just as blunt as Jess remembers. “You can count on that. He’s not the only one either.”

Ruby turns so that she’s looking at the sky instead of Jess. There’s something different about the tone of her voice. Jess doesn’t think it has to do with the fact that she’s in a different body. The sarcasm, the bravado, the jokes — they all seem just a touch too  _ thin. _

“What happened to you, Ruby?”

“Sam didn’t tell you?”

“You were the last thing on his mind that night,” she says. “He left before we could really get any details. It didn’t seem to matter, exactly how it happened. Not then.”

“Lilith decided to kick me out of my meatsuit and take it for a ride,” she replies, voice flat. “She couldn’t kill Sammy with her special demon powers, so she ran away. Went off to lick her wounds in her own special corner of hell.”

Jessica doesn’t think the sudden chill up her spine has anything to do with the night air. But she pulls her jacket closer around her anyway, dragging one leg up onto the bench so she can rest her cheek on top of her knee. She can see the forced way that Ruby is keeping her muscles lax. She feels like she has to be careful. One wrong word and Ruby will bolt.

“Did you escape or did she let you out?”

Ruby turns to glance at her. Jessica thinks she might look surprised. She turns away with another casually disaffected shrug that belies how much of an effect this is actually having on her.

“No one escapes from Lilith,” she scoffs. “She’s the first-born. She’s older than half your new angel buddies.”

“So she let you go, then. Why?”

Ruby blinks and turns to look at Jessica. The look isn’t quite a glare, but it’s a near miss. Jessica thinks that once, she might have been intimidated. Not now. No matter what secrets Ruby might be keeping, Jess doesn’t think she would hurt her. 

“I get that you’re probably used to the dynamic duo shouting their feelings all over the place the moment they’ve repressed for too long, but that’s not me. Trust me — you don’t want to know.”

“I’m not asking for a play by play,” Jessica replies, knowing she should really sound sharper than she feels. “But you said it yourself. No one escapes from her. All I want to know is why she let you go when no crossroads demon in the country would budge on Dean.”

Ruby tilts her head, almost like Jess said something that surprised her.

_ “You  _ tried to make a deal?”

Jessica sighs and stands up. She rubs her hands against her jeans and knows that it’s a mannerism she picked up from Sam. She can’t even remember when she started doing it. She only noticed it because Dean laughed at them both when they did it at the same time in front of him. 

“Is that such a surprise?”

“Kind of,” Ruby replies. Her voice sounds casual, but her body language is anything but. “Always thought you were, you know… the sensible one.”

_ Me too.  _

“If I were sensible, I would never have left California,” she says instead. 

Jessica wonders how she has managed to convince so many people that she’s  _ sensible. _ Once upon a time, she knows she was the epitome of  _ responsible _ . She didn’t have any other choice. To be practical was survival. She didn’t have another choice. But that was a long time ago. She doesn’t feel all that sensible anymore, except maybe compared to Sam and Dean.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she says, kicking the toe of her boot into the dirt. “Turns out I’m just as stupid and reckless as the Winchesters.”

“If you’re looking for someone to judge you about demon deals, you came to the wrong girl,” Ruby says. “You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”

Jess glances back at her. She isn’t sure if she is imagining it or not, but Ruby seems different. A touch less abrasive. Not soft, but certainly softer than she remembers her being. More — human. Jess can’t tell if it’s real or if she just isn’t used to this new, smaller Ruby.

“You seemed to feel pretty strong about Dean’s deal.”

“That was different.”

“It’s not,” Jess replies, dumbfounded. “It’s exactly the same.”

“Dean’s deal was a trap from the start. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do.  _ Every _ deal is a trap, Ruby.”

“Not like his.”

Jessica stops, turning back to look at Ruby carefully.  _ Dean Winchester is right where we want him.  _ That’s what the crossroads demon told her. 

“They wanted him there,” she says softly, more to herself than to Ruby. “That’s why they wouldn’t deal. They wanted Dean in hell.”

Ruby sighs and Jessica wonders if it’s because she didn’t mean to say as much as she did. She wonders just how many secrets Ruby has been keeping from them.

“Yeah. Once Lilith dragged me back to the pit, it was pretty clear that she was pulling out all the stops. She wanted him down there. I don’t know why.”

Jessica’s heart is beating so fast that she can  _ feel  _ it. It’s pounding against her neck and in her fingertips. She feels like she’s going to shake out of her skin.

“Do you think — “

Jessica cuts herself off. She doesn’t want to think about this. The implications of it. It changes everything she knows about her life since the fire. 

“Everything with — Azazel,” she says, the name still foreign on her tongue, “was it all to make sure Dean ended up in hell?”

Ruby is quiet when she answers. It’s a kind thing. Jessica thinks it is telling that it doesn’t seem to be a shock, to receive kindness from Ruby. 

“I don’t know. I wish I did.”

Jessica remembers the way her skin crawled the few times that his yellow eyes fell on her. She remembers the way that he looked at  _ Sam.  _ Hungry and terrible and speaking of  _ plans.  _ If everything was just a set-up to get Dean in hell, then was their plan for Sam foiled? Or do they still have something they want from him?

_ “Fuck,”  _ Jessica swears, wanting to kick something. “Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck!  _ Why them? Why is hell so  _ goddamn  _ determined to ruin their lives?  _ Why them?” _

She wants to scream and cry. She wants to find one of the so-called angels following Dean and demand to know why they have to suffer. Why they have done nothing. Why does her family have to be the one to suffer? What did they do to deserve being punished like this? 

_ You are a curse on this family. You never should have been born.  _

Jessica jumps when she feels something against her hand. Ruby is next to her. She isn’t looking at her, but she lets her knuckles bump against the back of Jessica’s hand. Jessica is too shocked, too lost in her flashback to pull away. Ruby slides their palms together. Her grip is solid. Grounding. If Jess had stopped to think about it, she probably would have expected Ruby’s skin to be cold. It isn’t her skin, after all. Not really. She doesn’t need working lungs or a beating heart.

But Ruby feels warm. Her hand is soft. Jessica can’t stop herself from gripping Ruby’s hand tight.

“I can’t stop hell from jerking your family around,” Ruby says, her voice the same uncharacteristic and impossible sort of soft as before. “But I’m trying to help with Lilith, at least. Sam… he’s strong. She’s scared of him. I’m trying to help him so that he can take her on and still walk away.”

Jessica grips Ruby’s hand. She knows how fucked this all is. She shouldn’t trust Ruby the way she does, especially when she knows just how many secrets Ruby keeps from them. She certainly shouldn’t be accepting  _ comfort  _ from her. No matter how human Ruby seems, she is still a demon.

_ But what makes a monster a monster?  _ Jessica thinks.  _ Are they born or are they made? Is a demon capable of growth? _

“You don’t think that’s a suicide run for him?”

It is what Jessica has feared the most. Every day that Dean was in hell every day Sam was missing — Jessica was so terrified and so sure that she would only find him after he got himself killed. She thought for sure that he would find some unwinnable fight to throw himself into. Something dangerous and terrible chosen specifically so he wouldn’t have to live in a world without Dean. 

There are days when she looks at him and is afraid that he still might do it. 

“I’m training him,” Ruby replies. “I’m training him so he can kill her and still walk away.”

Jessica wonders what  _ training  _ entails. She’s not sure she wants to know. 

“Lilith is  _ scared  _ of him, Jess. She’s not scared of anyone.”

_ Why Sam? Why does it always have to be him?  _

Jessica bites her lip, clinging to Ruby’s hand. It seems like no matter what they do, demons are always trying to sink their claws into Sam. She feels like a teenager again, screaming  _ it’s not fair _ until she’s blue in the face. Why is something as old and as powerful as Lilith afraid of  _ Sam?  _

“I know Dean isn’t going to like it,” Ruby says, sounding more like herself. “But that’s just because it’s me and he doesn’t like when Sam makes decisions without him.”

“You want me to talk him down,” Jess replies. “If you think I have a chance at actually getting him to listen when he finds out, you’re wrong.”

Ruby laughs. Jessica isn’t sure if hs has ever heard her really laugh before. It’s nice.

“I know. I’m mostly hoping you’ll be able to talk Sam out of being a martyr. You know Dean will manage to convince him he has to stop. Even if that isn’t what he wants, he’ll do it because of Dean.”

Jessica closes her eyes. She knows that Ruby is right. As soon as Dean finds out Sam is with Ruby, he won’t listen to anything else. Sam will be torn between what he thinks he should be doing and what Dean wants him to do. It will be a mess. They’ll rip themselves apart. She doesn’t know if there’s anything she can do to stop it. But she already knows that she’ll try.

“I’ll do what I can,” she replies. “It probably won’t be much.”

Ruby doesn’t reply. Jessica doesn’t expect her to. She knows that even agreeing to this could jeopardize everything she’s built with Dean. Especially now, fresh from hell and being given orders from angels. She doesn’t know if she believes Ruby or not. It seems impossible to imagine — Sam,  _ her  _ Sam fighting the oldest demon and living to tell the tale. 

Jessica doesn’t know if she can believe that’s possible. But she does believe that if they fight him, he might disappear again. 

No matter what she thinks of Ruby, that is not an option Jessica can live with again. 

“I can’t lose him,” Jessica says. “He’s already half-gone. I can’t lose either of them.”

Jessica’s eyes are shut tight, but she feels it when Ruby steps in front her. She feels it when her free hand touches her cheek. All she can do is keep holding onto Ruby’s hand. Her touch is warm and gentle and the only thing that makes it feel like Jessica isn’t drowning.

“You won’t,” Ruby replies. 

Her words should be a comfort. Instead, Jessica feels like her veins are pumping ice instead of blood. It feels like saying it out loud is a guarantee of the opposite.  _ You won’t lose them _ . A dramatic irony yet to be fulfilled. 

Jessica doesn’t know what she’ll do if that happens. 

She’s afraid of how far she might go to ensure that it doesn’t come true. 

* * *

Sam is restless. 

Dean is out for the night. Jessica isn’t sure where he has decided to go. She hopes that if he’s out at whatever bar is closest, he’ll call before he drinks himself into a stupor. He has been more distant, ever since Castiel spoke to him at Bobby’s. Trying to act as if everything is fine, but she can see him struggling. She hopes that he isn’t stubborn enough to refuse to come to her even if he won’t go to Sam. 

All she can do is wait. 

She is sitting on Dean’s bed, all her compiled notes about hellbound souls spread out in front of her. She has four months of research that she has to comb back through. Now that she knows angels are real, she has to reevaluate everything she read. They still don’t know anything about them except that they pulled Dean from the pit and are supposedly trying to stop Lilith from breaking seals to free Lucifer. 

Jessica doesn’t trust them.  _ Angel  _ is not synonymous with  _ good.  _

So Jess is combing through her research. They need to find a way to protect themselves from angels. Just in case. 

Before, Sam would have joined her on a project like this. He has always been the best at research between them, except for maybe Bobby. Jessica remembers back in Palo Alto, how often she would come home from work to find him studying something completely unrelated to whatever classes he had at the time. While Jessica would be content reading a book on the couch, maybe even watching something on TV, but Sam would be translating an article from Japanese or German. Just because he could.

Now, he hesitates to even sit next to her.

He’s sitting at the table, methodically cleaning every weapon from his kit. He glances at his phone whenever he thinks she isn’t looking. He is only a few feet from her in practice, but he feels as far as if he were in another room entirely.

_ He’s trying to find an opening. Some excuse to go meet Ruby. _

Jessica can see it, clear as day. It’s been a few weeks now since Ruby spoke to her. Sam has disappeared a handful of times since, but Jess hasn’t said anything yet. She doesn’t know if she should or not. He’s keeping it secret. She isn’t sure what he’ll do if he realizes she knows what he’s doing. 

She is still so terrified of losing him. Sam and Dean are both right by her side again, but it still feels as if they are lost to her. She feels like she’s living inside a dream. That’s the real reason she hasn’t said anything. She’s too afraid of affecting the balance.  _ One wrong move and they’re gone again. _

Jess knows she can’t keep living on that knife’s edge.

“You don’t have to make an excuse when it’s just me,” she finally says, looking up from her notes.  _ Move forward,  _ she tells herself.  _ The only way out is through.  _

Sam freezes, glancing over at her warily. Jessica meets his eye and holds it. He looks nervous. She raises an eyebrow at him and he sighs. 

“How long have you known?”

“That you’ve been sneaking out? Or that you’re meeting up with Ruby?”

Jessica isn’t a good enough person to not take pleasure in the way Sam’s face goes white. It’s a small pleasure, but she knows a better person would not feel the twinge of mirth that she feels. But a small voice whispers,  _ you shouldn’t underestimate me — haven’t you learned yet? _

“You know about Ruby?”

“She found me a few weeks ago. We talked.”

Sam blinks at her. He looks a little like a goldfish. Like he can’t imagine Ruby would seek Jessica out or that they would talk together.

“She asked me to help handle things when Dean eventually catches on.”

He turns away from her quick. Jess sighs and turns so she can sit to face him instead of her research. He ignores her. He silently puts his handgun back together. Just as methodical, but twice as slow as before. She can see the way he hesitates to put it down, wanting to repeat the process all over again.

“Sam.”

“Don’t, Jess. Okay? Just don’t.”

“He’s going to be more upset that you’ve been keeping it secret than the rest of it,” she replies. “If you tell him the truth — “

“He’ll go off the fucking rails,” Sam finishes. “He doesn’t want me using any of the psychic crap. It won’t matter to him if I’m using it for good, it’ll only matter that I’m using it all.”

“So explain it to him! He’s going to find out, Sam. You can’t keep it secret forever.”

Sam doesn’t reply. Jess knows why he doesn’t want to tell Dean. She understands. It’s the same reason she hasn’t told him about going to crossroads after he died. They know he won’t be able to handle exactly how far they were willing to go when he was gone. 

But Jess knows that keeping Ruby a secret can’t last. If Dean finds out from someone else or figures it out on his own, it will be a disaster. She doesn’t know if there will be any recovering from that.

“He’ll make me stop,” Sam finally says, his voice low. “I can’t do that. I  _ can’t.” _

Jessica knows it’s true. She knew as soon as Ruby told her what she was doing. She knew as soon as she found Sam in Pontiac. He isn’t seeking vengeance. He’s seeking  _ justice.  _ There’s nothing they can do to stop him because he believes that the end goal will justify whatever needs to happen between. She isn’t sure if she agrees. But she doesn’t know if she disagrees either.

“I know. I get it.”

“She’s still out there and we have no way to stop her. Nothing. Except for me.”

Jessica wishes it weren’t true. She wishes they had something,  _ anything  _ that could even  _ hurt  _ Lilith. But they have nothing except for a single knife. One knife against the oldest demon in creation. Jessica knows it isn’t enough. She doesn’t know if trusting Ruby is the right choice. She doesn’t know if supporting Sam in this is what she should be doing.

But she knows that Lilith is dangerous. She knows that if they don’t find a way to fight her, she will kill them all. 

“I know,” she whispers. “I hate it. But I know.”

She would give anything for it not to be true. But he’s right. Sam is the only thing they have found that might have the hope of a prayer against her.

“We should still talk to Dean. He’s going to find out. He should hear it from us.”

Sam closes his eyes, hands flat against the tabletop. “Yeah,” he says, but it sounds like it’s ripped out of him. “Just — not now. Soon.”

“It’ll be okay. We can explain it to him. He’ll come around.”

“It just — it feels like — “ He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. She can see him steeling himself for what he says next. “It feels like after Dad died all over again.”

_ He said I might have to kill you, Sammy. _

Jessica is glad that she never saw much of John Winchester when he was still alive. At the time, it felt catastrophic whenever she had an injury or flare up that sent her straight back to physical therapy. The burns were still so  _ new _ that anything related to them felt like the end of the world. Now, she’s almost grateful for it. Seeing the effects of John on his sons is more of his presence than she can bear most days. 

She remembers how terrible it was, after John died. Dean aimless and guilt-ridden and full of directionless rage. Sam torn and confused and terrified of himself. Jessica caught in the middle, unable to help either of them. 

“Dean was never afraid of  _ you _ , Sam,” she says softly. 

“No. But he was afraid of what I might become. Hell, he might still be. You think he could ever be okay with this? I know what it looks like, Jess.”

“What does it look like?”

He turns to look at her in complete and utter disbelief. Jessica has to fight herself to hold his eye. She doesn’t want to assume anything and the truth of it is — she doesn’t know exactly what it looks like. She doesn’t know exactly what happens when Sam goes to train with Ruby.

“It looks like I’m turning myself into a monster,” he says, his voice wrecked. “A freak.”

_ This isn’t about Dean at all, _ Jess thinks.

“Babe,” she says, the endearment slipping out before she can stop it, “is this really what you want?”

Looking at him now, it seems clear that the answer is  _ no _ . Jessica wonders if the only reason he agreed to Ruby’s plan in the first place was because he had no other options. She wonders if this was the real truth — if Ruby wanted her to convince  _ Sam,  _ not Dean, that training with her was necessary.

Jessica knows that Sam training Ruby is their only logical choice. And she is willing to support it if it is what Sam wants. But only if it is what he actually wants. 

She doesn’t think it’s what he wants anymore.

She slides forward so she can sit on the edge of the bed instead of in the middle of it. Sam is still too far for her to reach, but the movement makes him look up. He looks a mess. Jessica wants to reach out. She wants to touch press her fingers against his face, run her hands through his hair. She doesn’t feel like she’s allowed. Not with the way they are right now. This strange limbo of  _ I love you, but we’ll hurt each other if we’re together. _

But Jessica can’t just sit by while he looks so miserable.

She stretches her leg out so she can press her toes against his calf. He looks up at her, misery in every line of his face. She pushes, knocking his leg gently. He huffs out a barely-there laugh. It isn’t much, but it’s something. 

“Lilith isn’t your responsibility,” she says, making sure her voice does not shake. “If this isn’t what you want to do, you can stop.”

He closes his eyes, shaking his head. Every inch of him looks weighed down. Jessica can’t help but think of Atlas, doomed to carry the weight of the sky on his shoulders. She thinks of the mariner who shot the albatross, forced to wear the curse around his neck for his crime. Looking at Sam, she thinks he may be carrying a heavier burden. 

“How is she not my responsibility? When we know what we know? If I’m able to face her, doesn’t that mean I have to?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Jess replies. “You are more important than Lilith dying. Understand? Now tell me the truth — is this what you  _ want?” _

“I  _ want  _ Lilith dead,” he snaps. “I want her buried so deep no part of her can ever come back.”

Jessica nods. “Okay. Is this the way you want to do it?”

Sam blinks, every muscle in his face twitching. He looks away from her. Jessica still wants to reach out. She wants to hold his hand. She wants him to stop being such a fucking  _ martyr.  _

“I don’t know,” he finally says. “I don’t want to lose Dean again. I don’t want to lose you.”

Jessica can’t hold herself back anymore. She leans forward so she can catch Sam’s sleeve. She tugs, pulling at his shirt until she can drag his arm close enough that she can hold his hand. He doesn’t fight her. He clings to her like he’s been waiting for her to reach out. She holds on just as tight.

His hand feels warm. A little sweaty. She has missed this. 

“You won’t lose me,” she says. “No matter what you choose. I know we’re not… okay. Right now. But you don’t have to worry about losing me. Okay?”

Jessica can see the way he shakes, even if it isn’t strong enough for her to feel it in his hand. She wishes they were both less broken. She hates that he even has to question her place in his life. No matter what they are to each other, even if this strange limbo is all they ever are again, Sam is family. He is the first family that mattered. That won’t ever change. Not for her. 

“And Dean?”

He sounds so  _ young.  _ It feels so easy to forget that Sam is a little brother at heart. She relies on him so much. He’s her moral compass. Her voice of reason. But when it all comes down to it, Sam is always  _ Dean’s little brother  _ first. 

“Sam,” she says softly, “is this what you  _ want?” _

“No,” he whispers, free hand pressed hard and flat against the table. “I want her dead. I’ll do this if that’s what it takes to kill her. But I don’t… I don’t want this.”

“Then we’ll find another way. Okay?”

“Okay,” he says.

Jessica squeezes his hand, wrapping her other hand around his. His fingers flex under hers and she can see him trying to control his breathing. She rubs her thumb against the back of his hand. 

“Do you want me to handle Ruby?”

Sam shakes his head, equal parts panicked and wrung out. “No. No, I… I should talk to her. She was supposed to meet up with me in a few days.”

“Okay,” Jess replies. “Then let me talk to Dean.”

“Jess — “

“Don’t argue. Let me do this.”

He sighs, heavy and tired. But he nods, the weight of the sky on his shoulders, an albatross bending his neck. “Just — let me talk to Ruby first.”

Jessica nods, but doesn’t say anything else. She keeps her hands wrapped around Sam’s, shifting her hand so she can press her fingers against his wrist. His pulse thrums against her fingertips and she strokes his skin there. She wants to do more. She thinks it might even be okay if she did. Sam wouldn’t push her away. 

But she knows it would confuse them both. She doesn’t want to push things until they’re both ready. 

So she holds his hand. She tries to plan the best way to talk to Dean. She hopes that, somehow, this will all turn out okay.

* * *

Jessica should have known that something would happen.

It’s a night nearly identical to the one where Ruby found her. They are between hunts and Jessica knew she would never be able to sleep. So she left the boys in the motel room and found a quiet place to sit. She knew that when she eventually made it back to the room, Sam would be gone. He would have left as soon as Dean was asleep. To go tell Ruby what he decided.

She expects him to be missing when she gets back. She does not expect Dean’s bed to be empty too. Not with the Impala still outside. Or his duffel bag still on the table. 

“Dean?”

Jessica already knows there won’t be an answer. Dean isn’t here. He’s gone, but he wouldn’t have left without his gear or the Impala.  _ On the run? Or taken?  _ She steps further into the room, resting her hand on her knife. The air feels close. Stifling. Like the moments just before a thunderstorm, when static is heavy in the air. 

Something isn’t right.

She can feel a change in the air behind her.  _ Something’s behind you.  _ She draws her knife as quietly as she can. She knows she can handle herself. But she has no information here. It could be anything behind her and her knife only works on about half of the creatures they hunt.

“Dean — “

“Dean is safe. He will be returned to you shortly.”

Jessica doesn’t hesitate. She spins around, whipping her knife with her. She has her knife pressed against his throat before she even registers that it’s a man. He doesn’t move an inch, but his skin does not burn against her blade. Not from the silver or from the consecration that usually works just as well as holy water. 

_ Not a shifter,  _ she thinks.  _ Not a demon. But something.  _

He is her height, though she stands a little taller thanks to her boots. His hair is a mess and there is something  _ otherworldly  _ about him. She knows, instinctively, that he is not human. She knows whatever he is, he is dangerous.

“You took him. Where is he?”

“Safe. There are things he needs to see.”

“Who are you? How did you get past our wards?”

“Your wards are impressive, but you do not have the necessary protection to prevent angels from finding you.”

Jessica freezes. She doesn’t move her knife from his neck, but she doesn’t press the flat of the blade against his skin quite so hard. She looks him up an down, trying to remember everything that Dean has told them about his meetings with the angels. He is nothing like what she imagined.

“An angel. So you’re Castiel.”

“I am,” he replies, his voice impossibly even and impossibly rough. She wonders if the person he’s possessing sounds like that or if it’s because he doesn’t know how to work vocal chords. Even in a different body, Ruby had just sounded like Ruby to her. “And you are Jessica Moore.”

“You know me?”

Castiel inclines his head and Jessica drops her arm to her side. Nothing about his body language feels right. It all seems — off. Dean didn’t talk about this. He looks human, but every movement, every action all screams  _ other. _

“You are known to Heaven, yes. Your survival has been the subject of much debate.”

Jessica feels her stomach drop. “Oh?”

“Yes. There are some who believe it to be a miracle. There are few who have escaped from one of the Princes of Hell. Especially one as determined as Azazel.”

_ Even the angels believe you were supposed to burn. _

“It wasn’t a miracle,” Jess replies, feeling numb. “It was Sam and Dean.”

Castiel inclines his head again, though Jessica can tell her words meant little to him. He doesn’t understand what she means. She can tell it as easily as she can tell he isn’t human. He turns to the table by the window, where Dean’s gear still sits. John’s journal is poking out the top of his bag. Jessica can only watch as Castiel lifts it out, paging through it carefully. 

“You are in a unique position, Jessica Moore.”

“Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.”

He looks up at her, tilting his head curiously. “You humans are very strange. Dean also reacted to my presence with hostility and distrust.”

“We don’t know you,” Jess snaps. “You’ve made it clear we have no way to defend ourselves against you, even if we wanted to. You just told me you kidnapped Dean. Trust isn’t free. You have to earn it.”

“I see,” he replies, turning back to John’s journal. “And how do you earn trust?”

_ Is an angel asking me for lessons on how to act human? _

“Why do you want to know?”

“I am… curious. It has been thousands of years since angels have walked amongst humans. You are not how I remember you.”

Jessica isn’t sure what it is that makes her so sure, but she knows that he’s lying. At the very least, he is omitting the truth. There is something calculated about his words. Something that makes the alarm bells in Jessica’s head ring and ring and ring.

_ Dean said he was a soldier. Following orders. That he saved Dean because he had work for him. _

“No,” Jess says, realizing what he is really here for, “you want me to tell you how you can earn  _ Dean’s  _ trust. That’s why you’re here.”

Castiel looks up at her. He stares at her, unblinking, and Jessica wants to look away. She doesn’t let herself. Finally, he closes John’s journal and sets it back down on the table. 

“You are very perceptive,” Castiel says. “You are correct. It has been suggested that Dean may be more amenable to our cause if we gain his trust. Currently, he is learning some truths of his parent’s pasts. When he returns, he will know everything that we know.”

“But you’re still here talking to me,” Jess replies. “Why?”

“As I said, you are in a unique position.”

Jessica waits. She feels numb.

“Sam and Dean both trust your judgement. More, perhaps, than anyone else in their lives. You can lead them on the right path.”

_ They want to use you against them, _ a voice whispers in the back of her head.  _ The only reason heaven or hell cares that you are alive is so they can use you as a weapon against your family. _

“And let me guess — you think you know what this  _ right path _ should be.”

“Is the path of Heaven not in and of itself a righteous one?”

Jessica laughs. She can’t help it. Not when she has been told her entire life that she deserves to be punished by people who turn around and preach the word of God. He really doesn’t know a thing about humanity.

“You picked the wrong person to try and evangelize, Castiel. You would have better luck with Sam. He’s the real believer.”

Castiel stares at her for a long few moments. She is already mentally making a list of additional books she can look at that might have information on warding against angels. She never wants to have to speak to one of them again. 

“You lack faith.”

He doesn’t say it like it is a question, but it sounds like one anyway. Jessica sits down on the edge of Sam’s still-made bed. Castiel doesn’t move. He continues to stare at her, looking more confused now than anything else. Even that looks out of place on his face.

“You didn’t do your research? I’ve been an atheist since I was fourteen.”

“That is not the information we were given.”

His voice is clipped. Confused. Jessica realizes exactly what sort of information he must have been given. She tries not to think about the fact that angels were watching her, gathering information on her. Did they really stand by and watch while she was — 

No. She can’t think about that.

“They told you I spent most of my time in St. Catherine’s,” she guesses.

“Yes. Why would you spend so much of your youth in the Church if you do not believe?”

“Well, you know what they say. Any port in a storm,” Jessica replies, her voice acidic. 

He still looks confused. Jessica doesn’t care. She isn’t going to unpack her childhood trauma with a stranger, even if he does claim to be an angel. If he wants to know  _ why _ , he can go hunt down the soul of her dead father and find out for himself. Jessica isn’t going to talk about it.

“I’m not going to help you,” she says. “You want to use me so you can get Sam and Dean to do whatever you want. That’s not how this works.”

He looks up at her. “And how, exactly, do you think  _ this  _ works?”

Jessica straightens her back. She may not know how to defend herself from an angel yet, but she’ll figure it out. She won’t let them fuck with her family.

“You may be a soldier, Castiel,” Jess says, struggling to keep her voice in check, “but that doesn’t mean you get to use my family as cannon fodder.”

The air in the room feels dense. Electric. Jessica has to fight herself so she does not bow under the weight of it. Castiel fixes her with a stare that feels dangerous. She almost thinks she can hear the phantom sound of thunder in her ears. 

“We are at war, child,” he says, power and weight behind every word. “If Lilith succeeds in her plans, the Earth will become a wasteland. Heaven will fall. This is not a  _ game.”  _

Jessica forces herself to breathe. In through her nose. Out her mouth. She hasn’t had a panic attack in years. She won’t start now.

“Lilith tore my life to shreds without lifting a finger,” Jessica says. “I know how dangerous she is.”

“Every measure must be taken to ensure she is stopped. She cannot gain ground. Our cause  _ cannot  _ fail.”

_ Say what you mean, Castiel, _ Jessica wants to say.  _ Stop talking in circles.  _ She doesn’t say it. Not with the air so weighty.

“Sam is consorting with a demon. If you and Dean do not stop him, we will.”

Jessica can feel her heart racing. Suddenly, it feels as if there is no air in the room at all. Her hand shakes against her knee. Castiel stares down at her, calm even in this. She knows , somehow, that it won’t matter if she tells him that Sam has already decided to stop working with Ruby. She can see it in his eye. 

“You’re making a mistake,” she finally manages to say. “This isn’t the way to get Dean on your side. This is a  _ mistake.” _

“To err is human, Jessica Moore,” he says imperiously, “and I am not human.”

He disappears in a blink. It feels like the air goes out of the room with him. All the weight and electricity, all the  _ power. _ It’s as if none of it was ever there at all. 

Jess is all that’s left. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this update! It really was such a delight for me to imagine how Jessica would interact with both Ruby and Castiel. I hope it was maybe surprising as well. I feel like not enough exploration is given to how dangerous Castiel felt in his introduction. Please let me know what you think! I would appreciate any comments about what you are thinking so far. 
> 
> If you want to come hang with me, you can find me on both [Tumblr](https://ao3-kenopsiia.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ao3_kenopsiia), I would love if you came to talk to me!!

**Author's Note:**

> I would love if you could leave a comment letting me know what you think so far. You can find me on both [Tumblr](https://ao3-kenopsiia.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ao3_kenopsiia), I would love if you came to talk to me!! As I said in the first author's note, I am just returning to this fandom and have no one to scream with at the moment. Even if you do none of those things, thank you so very very much for reading this. I hope that you will join me on the rest of this journey. I have some big ideas I am very excited about and cannot wait to share them with you.


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